


Home Again, Home Again

by TheWritersHeir



Series: Dear St. Anne I'm writing about a Video Game... [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dadza is amazing, Fluff, Gen, NO SHIPPING NONE NO, NO SHIPS WHATSOEVER, Requests are welcome, can i go to bed?, im so bored, im so tired, like none, little bit of angst but mostly just random stories, this is purely platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29934192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritersHeir/pseuds/TheWritersHeir
Summary: I saw a comment on a random Dream SMP video shortly after Phil "adopted" Ranboo that said something along the lines of "philza's just gonna adopt the whole server at this point" and my evil brain decided to have some fun.
Relationships: ALL PLATONIC
Series: Dear St. Anne I'm writing about a Video Game... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2172444
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

> Im going to make this perfectly clear now--
> 
> I am NOT SHIPPING ANY OF THE DREAM SMP CHARACTERS. I dont ship their characters OR their real-life personas. 
> 
> !!THIS IS ALL PLATONIC!!
> 
> Everything in this fic was written as and should be read as sibling/parental/bff love. It is NOT TO BE READ AS ANYTHING ELSE. 
> 
> I REPEAT: THIS ENTIRE FIC WAS WRITTEN WITH PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS IN MIND. I DO NOT SHIP ANY, I MEAN ANY, OF THESE CHARACTERS.

Nobody could see Connor’s wings.  
  
They were a soft red, like a faded cardinals feathers. They were rather small, but had been steadily growing after they appeared when he was eight. He couldn’t fly with them though—he didn’t know how to move the muscles on his back to get them to flap. They twitched and flared all on their own, as if they were a separate entity from his own body.  
  
When they first appeared, he had been terrified of being labeled a ‘mobblood,’ a filthy hybrid whose pure blood had been muddied by one of nature’s wandering spirits.  
  
He didn’t even know where they could have come from. Connor had never known his parents, and his uncle was his only relative.  
  
Not that his uncle gave a crap out Connor.  
  
Nobody gave a crap about Connor.  
  
Connor was small for his age, way too skinny, and hard to catch.  
  
Well, usually.  
  
_Usually_ he was hard to catch.  
  
Today must have been the exception.  
  
“What’re you doing?”  
  
The deep, monotone voice sent chills up Connor’s spine, even though the day was rather warm for November. Panicking, he fought to get his wrist free from the man-mountain’s grip. This guy was huge. Connor had been so intent on picking pockets he hadn’t even noticed he was trying to rob a freaking giant.  
  
“Nothing! Let me go!” He just barely came up to the giant’s elbow; subconsciously, he knew he’d never free himself but still he fought.  
  
Because that’s all he knew how to do.  
  
“Leave him off, Techno.” A freakishly tall brunet wearing a red beanie over soft curls and an earth-brown cloak put a hand on the giant’s shoulder. He was taller than the giant, by a few inches, but looked like he’d blow away in a strong gust of wind. “He’s just a kid.”  
  
“He’s got wings.”  
  
Connor froze in his struggles.  
  
_He can see my wings?? It’s been three years since—he can see!?_  
  
The brunet did a double-take, then fixed on the rusty-colored appendages that were currently folded as tightly as possible to Connor’s back. He could feel them shaking, right along with the rest of his body.  
  
“We don’t have room for more orphans,” the brunet whined while dragging his hand over his face before fixing Connor with a doe-eyed glare that was more pity than heat.  
  
“You got a family, kid?” the giant asked.  
  
“N-no.”  
Connor’s uncle didn’t count. People who hit their family didn’t count as family.  
  
“Let’s go.” The giant seemed satisfied with the answer and started dragging a spluttering Connor along with him while the brunet started protesting.  
  
“Techno, we just can’t kidnap kids!”  
  
“Tell that to Phil and the house filled with orphans back home.”  
  
“That was legally!”  
  
“Ranboo’s circumstances didn’t exactly scream ‘legal’ to me.”  
  
“That was an Ender tribe! Not some random kid in the village!”  
  
“Big Q.”  
  
“He was a slave kid! Phil has the bloody receipt!”  
  
“Sam.”  
  
“Had an abuser!! That was done legally!!”  
  
“After Phil kidnapped him.”  
  
“He went and got the papers after!”  
  
The giant, Techno, snorted. “Kid’s an avian. The only avian we’ve seen since moving here. That means Phil has more claim to this kid than anyone in this pathetic village.”  
  
The brunet grumbled, but didn’t say anything else.  
  
Connor, wondering _what was happening!!_ , couldn’t find the words to scream. Logically, he knew no one would care anyway, but somehow he was more curious about where the teens were taking him and why they kept talking about other kids.  
  
Eventually, near one of the side gates in the massive wall that surrounded to the village to keep hostile mobs out at night, Connor caught sight of two wagons filled with boxes, crates, and sacks. A tall, broad-shouldered blond man was talking to a woman who Connor recognized as the owner of the local mill. She was laughing at something the man had just said, a smile on her normally grouchy face.  
  
Well, she was grouchy to Connor because he kept trying to sneak into her basement in the winter to sleep so he didn’t freeze to death.  
  
Like she cared at all.  
  
“Wilbur!”  
  
Connor was suddenly hyper-aware of the dozen and a half kids running rampant around the wagons in what appeared to be a violent game of tag.  
  
Two boys, one gangly and blond and the other skinny and clutching a stuffed bee like it was the most precious thing on earth, barreled right at the brunet and tackled him around the waist. The brunet, Wilbur, laughed and hauled the kids up onto his hips.  
  
_They have wings._  
  
_They have_ wings.  
  
Connor stared wide-eyed at the cream-colored feathers on the blond and the dusky brown on the bee kid, suddenly not caring that his hand was going numb in the giant’s hand and that he was possibly being kidnapped.  
  
“You get the chocolate?” The blond looked down and saw Connor. “Who’s this? Wait--he has wings!!”  
  
“Easy, Tommy,” Wilbur sighed, shifting the boy higher onto his hip. “You’ll scare him.”  
  
“I will not!!”  
  
Connor shrank behind Techno as the rest of the kids were drawn to the five by Tommy’s screaming.  
  
Techno noticed and picked the kid up and set him on his shoulders. Connor yelped and grabbed at the giant’s hair.  
  
“Easy, kid.”  
  
Connor eased his grip up and just stared.  
  
There was another kid with wings _(three?? Three kids with wings!! Like me!!)_ , golden yellow feathers shimmering in the sun. There was a toddler with flaming red hair being balanced on a blonde girl’s hip, a rail-thin kid taller than Wilbur with bi-colored eyes holding the hand of brown-haired boy in an over-sized purple hoodie.  
  
Even more of various ages and hybrids running around too fast for Connor to get a look at, all vying for attention and chattering over each other.  
  
_So many kids—_  
  
Connor had never seen so many kids that all looked happy, clean, and well-fed. None of them looked on the brink of starvation, or had that pinch on their faces that signaled worry over where they were going to sleep that night without freezing.  
  
Techno ignored their myriad of questions about Connor, letting Wilbur try his best to answer and entertain Tommy and the bee kid, who Connor thought he heard be called Tubbo (several times, as Tommy started screaming for his attention at one point).  
  
Just as Connor was getting used to the shouts and sounds and the chatter, a group of three horses suddenly rode up from the other side of the fence.  
  
“Hey Techno!”  
  
_More??_  
  
The tallest, a blond-haired teen wearing a creepy white smiley-face mask that hid most of his face and a green hoodie galloped up, skidding the horse expertly to a stop right in front of the giant, who didn’t even flinch even though the horse was two inches from slamming into him.  
  
“I got the enchantme—who’s this?”  
  
“He’s got wings.”  
  
Sitting double with the teenager was a slightly younger boy with curly brown hair and white glasses. He was pale, clinging to the teen in front of him as though he was afraid he’d fall off any second.  
  
“We know that, George. What kind of an enchantments?”  
  
Connor stopped listened and watched as the other two horses with single riders, one wearing a white shirt and bandana tied around his black hair and the other wearing a black and red hoodie, rode up to the wagon, distracting the gaggle of kids that were circling Wilbur and Techno.  
  
Tommy struggled against Wilbur’s grip—Wilbur let him go and the kid flew, wings flapping haphazardly, about two feet before collapsing to the ground and running with the other kids. Tubbo followed like a shadow, his own wings fluttering excitedly.  
  
“Sapnap get away with his arsonist quest?” Wilbur asked the kid with white glasses.  
  
_Was George his name?_  
  
“We think so,” George sighed. “Dream had to rescue him from the butcher’s wife. She almost got him with her cleaver.”  
  
Wilbur hissed through his teeth, though he was smiling. “What’d Dream do? Promise to date the brat she calls a daughter?”  
  
“I did not,” the green-hoodie kid said haughtily. “Simply told her I’d snitch on him to Phil.”  
  
_Dream? Yeah that’s his name. I think--_  
  
“Speaking of Dadza—” George sat up and looked over Dream’s shoulder, “—we get everything?”  
  
“Think so,” Wilbur said, stretching. “We should be good for a month or two.”  
  
“So what’s up with Phil Jr. the Fifth?”  
  
Connor realized they were talking about him.  
  
“What?” he said, voice cracking.  
  
“Found him with his hand in my pocket,” Techno said, tapping Connor’s leg. “Said he didn’t have a family, so here we sit.”  
  
Connor fought from shrinking back as the smiley-face mask fixed on him, scrutinizing him.  
  
“Quit it, idiot,” George punched Dream in the side. “You’re scaring him.”  
  
Dream shrugged. “He’s cute enough. Kristen will like him.”  
  
“Kristen won’t even notice,” Wilbur scoffed as the mill owner finally left.  
  
“Kristen always notices,” Dream said sagely.  
  
“How long did we hide Eret?”  
  
“Ten minutes. Puffy snitched.”  
  
“Wait, who was the one we hid for three days?”  
  
“Jack, and only because he kept his mouth shut and hid in in the girls’ room.”  
  
“So who snitched on him?”  
  
“Niki?”  
  
“No, I think it was Schlatt.”  
  
“Schlatt would never. He’d blackmail them, but he would never.”  
  
“I think Alyssa found him then went and tattled to Phil,” Techno said. “She’s too little to know better.”  
  
“Makes sense.” Dream adjusted his grip on the reigns. “Speaking of Dadza—”  
  
“Techno.”  
  
Connor thought he felt Techno stiffen as the only adult Connor could see walked up, face in a slight frown. “Hey Dad.”  
  
“Who’s this?”  
  
“Uh, an avian?” Techno said.  
  
“An orphan.” Wilbur said at the same time.  
  
Phil looked up at Connor, pausing on his wings for the briefest of seconds, and his eyes softened. “Really mate?”  
  
Connor swallowed hard.  
  
_(My uncle doesn’t count. He hits me. Family doesn’t hit their family.)_  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Phil nodded, almost sadly. “What’s your name?”  
  
“Connor.”  
  
Phil nodded, then looked back at Techno. “Did you steal him or did he want to come with?”  
  
“Uhh—”  
  
“Techno—”  
  
“He stole him,” Wilbur piped up.  
  
Dream took this opportunity to steer the horse away. “Didn’t have anything to do with this, Dadza. Sapnap set the butchers on fire, by the way. Have fun!”  
  
Phil sighed deeply, then ran a hand on his face, much like Wilbur had done earlier, then looked up at Connor.  
  
“What’d ya say, mate?”  
  
Connor realized he was really asking him.  
  
Nobody ever asked for Connor’s opinion.  
  
“We can put you back if you want.”  
  
“No!”  
  
For some reason, the idea of being brought back to the street where Techno had found him seemed appalling.  
  
_(What am I doing!? This guy could be a trafficker for all I know!!)_  
  
But somehow, as Connor looked into Phil’s soft, smiling face, he knew it wasn’t true.  
  
It was the same look the baker’s wife gave him every time he begged on her corner when she would give him a little extra money or that time the fishmonger gave him a worn-out heavy coat right before winter set it two years ago.  
  
It was the look his mom had given him all the time before she got sick and died.  
  
It was a look of kindness. Of love.  
  
Connor saw it less and less these days, and he missed it.  
  
To his mortification, he felt tears burning at his eyes. He bowed his head, choosing to pick at Techno’s braid instead.  
  
Suddenly he was being picked up again. He yelped, but found himself being handed to Phil. The man’s arms were warm, and he smelled like grass and sawdust and faintly of lemon soap.  
  
Absentmindedly, he wondered if being this freakishly tall and strong ran in the family.  
  
“How bout this?” Phil said gently, noticing how Connor’s eyes were reddening. “We’ll take you home for the night and then we’ll come back tomorrow to sort things out. A few people owe me a couple favors—we’ll see what we can do, okay?”  
  
Connor nodded, fixating on the fraying sleeves of his ratted jacket.  
  
“Right now, let’s get you home and cleaned up and some food in your stomach.”  
  
Connor nodded, realizing that sounded a lot better than his original plans for the evening.  
  
“We’re gonna put you with Bad,” Phil said, walking over to the kid with the red and black hoodie who hadn’t gotten off his horse yet. “He’s responsible enough to not get you in trouble.”  
  
Bad, a skinny teen with oaken-colored hair and glasses, smiled as Phil walked up to him. “Another one, Mister Philza?”  
  
“Yep,” Phil said as he handed Connor up to him. “Keep him away from Sapnap, Tommy, Quackity—you know what, keep him away from everyone until we get home.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Bad said cheerily as he made room for Connor, whose head was spinning, on the saddle. “Ready to go home, lil muffin?”  
  
Connor had no idea what that meant, or how it even made sense, but he nodded numbly.  
Dimly, he wondered if his uncle was going to miss him tonight, or if he was already stone-cold drunk to notice.  
  
Phil started giving orders left and right, and Connor watched in amazement as the small army obeyed almost instantly. Most of them piled onto the two wagons, though the baby redhead got handed up to Techno, who had his own horse like Dream and the rest.  
  
Tommy and Tubbo got to ride with Wilbur on his own horse _(how rich was this family??)_ , Tubbo on his lap and Tommy perched on the back.  
  
Connor laughed at the look of distaste on Wilbur’s face. The slight blonde girl drove the first wagon while Phil drove the second. Connor saw him do a headcount at least twice.  
  
“Okay, muffinhead, off we go.” Bad clicked to the horse as the wagons started rumbling down the road.


	2. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out wrangling twenty-plus orphans is quite similar to herding butterflies. 
> 
> Butterflies on crack. 
> 
> And also Drunk.
> 
> Who knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have midterms. 
> 
> What I am doing here?
> 
> Not studying for midterms, that's what. Don't judge me. 
> 
> tws: fainting, mentions of child abuse, malnutrition and its effects. nothing too bad at all, but I'm playing it safe.
> 
> Once again, I AM NOT SHIPPING ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS OR THEIR REAL-LIFE PERSONAS. 
> 
> Except for Phil and his lovely wife, Miss Kristen, for obvious reasons.

The ride was uneventful—mostly.

The noise was constant—whether it was Tommy shrieking and Tubbo joining in, Bad yelling “Language!!” at the colorful swearing everybody seemed to like, or Fundy (the little redhead) screeching randomly for no reason—it never ended. 

Connor felt it strangely comforting.

Bad was comforting too. 

The teen kept one hand on the reigns and the other hand around Connor’s middle to keep him on the horse. 

“Getting sleepy, aren’t you?”

Connor jumped slightly at Bad’s chuckle. He nodded automatically and couldn’t help but snuggle against the older boy’s chest. 

He was so warm, and tired—

Next thing he knew, one of the other boys—Connor was 72% his name was Quackity—was yelling at the top of his lungs, “Kristen!! We got a new brother!!” The golden-winged boy flew up and away towards the biggest house Connor had ever seen.

“We’re hoooommmeeee,” Bad said in a sing-songy voice. He gently shook Connor, who was still staring. 

“ _That’s_ where you live??”

Bad laughed at Connor’s tone. “You can thank Dadza. He keeps adding on as we get bigger.”

Connor didn’t respond, just stared. 

The soft yellow house was three stories tall, and huge from the front. It had a wrap-around porch on all three floors with a turret-like tower on one of the corners. The shutters were blue and there were several flower bushes out front. 

And there was _more_. 

Standing up in the saddle as far as he could, Connor saw a large red barn that was almost as big as the house and the corners of a few more buildings. 

Connor yelped as he lost his footing and nearly pitched forward, Bad catching him at the last second. 

“Don’t break him already!” Sapnap yelled before he kicked the horse into a gallop. “Race you, Wilbur!!”

“Wilbur, no!” Phil was too late.

Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo shrieking and hanging on for dear life, kicked his horse a lot harder than he probably should’ve.

“Techno, don’t you—Techno THE BABY!!!”

Techno ignored Phil too, and simply held onto Fundy with one arm and shot forward, his horse quickly over taking Wilbur’s and Sapnap’s. 

“Dreeeaaa _AAAMMMMM_!!!” George screamed like a girl as the masked boy took off after his friends _(brothers??)_. 

Connor knew it was coming. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. 

But he still let out the highest-pitched wail he could manage as Bad’s arm wrapped around his waist like a vice and he forced the horse forward. 

“Badboyhalo Minecraft—not with the new kid!!”

Badboyhalo Minecraft couldn’t possibly have heard Phil, as he was swiftly catching up to the other four horses. 

The finish line must’ve been the porch, because that’s where the five riders and their passengers pulled up. 

“Let’s do it again!!” Tommy yelled, struggling to speak through his laughter. 

“Let’s not!”

Connor nearly jumped out of his skin as Phil’s voice suddenly appeared _right behind them_. He jumped in the saddle to see Phil _right there, with huge frickin massive humongous grey wings!!!!!_

Connor had had enough. 

It was all too much, there was other people _with wings_ and he was at someone else’s house, and his uncle was going to beat him when he went back tomorrow like Phil said, and there were kids yelling everywhere and Fundy was now crying and Connor and was hungry and cold and Bad’s arm was too tight around his waist—

…

“Connor!” Bad almost dropped the kid as he suddenly slumped out of pure shock.

“Oh, Bad—” Phil sighed as he took the tiny boy from Bad’s saddle. “You should’ve known better—”

“I’m so sorry!” Bad said hurriedly, fiddling with his hoodie. “I’d thought he’d wanna join in on the fun—”

Phil gave him a look. It wasn’t an angry look—Phil never got angry at his kids—but he did get disappointed. 

“What’s going on?” 

Phil turned, Connor curled up in his arms, to see his wife standing there on the porch with little Alyssa clinging to her apron.

“Dadza?” 

Phil couldn’t help but smile at one of the youngest members of his household.

“We got another one, love.” Phil walked up the porch steps as the older kids that he had taken with him and the other older ones that had stayed back with Kristen piled out of the house to help put the supplies away. 

Kristen’s face melted into a soft smile, eyes crinkling around the corners, and she reached her arms out for the child. 

“Aw, poor thing—” she cooed, cradling the little boy in her arms. “Puffy!” she turned back into the house. “Run a bath, darling!”

Phil smiled, knowing Connor was in good hands. 

Sighing as he heard several screams echoing from the backyard, he headed back to try to calm the chaos.

…

It was close to two hours later when Phil finally managed to round his army of orphans up and into the house for dinner.

“Everyone wash your hands!” He heard Minx, his second-oldest daughter, yell from the third floor. 

He also heard Tommy mutter a few curses with her name attached. 

“Tommy!! Don’t make me hide your discs again!!” 

Tommy disappeared up the stairs, swearing out loud this time, Tubbo following and joining in on the cursing. Ranboo, though he wasn’t swearing, clambered after the two. 

Phil wandered to the kitchen to find Puffy, the eldest daughter, cooking dinner. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said tiredly. “Where’s Mum?”

“Upstairs in the L’manburg bathroom with the new kid.” 

Phil smiled fondly at the nickname. The house was so big, with so many rooms and nooks and crannies, and the rest of the property had even more little places to hide, that the kids had effectively nicknamed almost everything.

“L’manburg” was half of the second floor (the boys got the entire second floor) where the younger boys slept, played, and had their bathroom. 

“SMP” was the other half of the floor for the older boys. 

Phil knew better than to ask what it stood for. 

Sure enough, he found his wife sitting on the edge of the tub with the new kid under a mountain of bubble bath. Phil almost laughed—the only thing he could see of Connor was his head and the very top of his rust-colored wings, the bathtub was practically overflowing with bubbles. 

“Hey mate,” he chuckled. The kid stared at him; no, the kid was staying _behind_ him. 

At his wings.

Oh.

“He said nobody’s ever seen his wings,” Kristen explained, for which the kid looked grateful. “It’s like they’re invisible. And he’s never seen anybody else with wings.”

“Is that why you conked out on us? It was all a bit much?” Phil asked gently. 

The kid hesitated, then nodded shortly. 

“Ah. Sorry ‘bout that, mate.”

“He’s pretty beaten up, love,” Kristen said, pulling a pink towel out of a mountain of multi-colored flannels. “Nothing dangerous or life-threatening, but he’s definitely taken a beating—recently.”

Her words were quiet, with a soothing lilt. Phil glanced at Connor; the kid had his gaze fixed firmly on a pile of bubbles in front of him.  
Phil felt a small coil of rage begin to form in his stomach.

He had seen it _so many times_ —with Jack and Eret and Minx and Techno and Tubbo and George and Ant and _so many more_ —

Why did people beat kids? 

_Why??_

“Love.” Kristen’s touch was soft on his arm. It grounded Phil, brought him back to earth. 

He smiled at her, though the rage within remained. “I’m good.”

She nodded, then brushed a kiss against his cheek. 

“What would I do without you?” he asked, eyes filled with affection for the only woman that he could ever love. 

“Probably lose the kids,” Kristen said matter-of-factly, snapping the towel. “Now shoo. Puffy’ll be getting dinner soon and I’m going to try and cut Connor’s hair quick.”

Phil nodded, returned the kiss, and left. 

The dining room, which was actually the living room and dining room combined, stretched the length of the entire bottom of the house and taking up a good half of the space. 

Phil had built it that way on purpose. The kitchen took up a third of the remaining space, and the rest was a mixture of a coat room, sitting room, weapons arsenal, and school room.

And it was currently under a war. 

He sighed as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. 

The kids had taken sides, obviously. Dream was on the dining room side, with a bunch of the older kids backing him. Wilbur was on the other side with everyone else. 

Even Fundy, Alyssa, and Drista, way too little to be joining in on such goings on—were cheering and shouting from where Puffy had deposited them in high chairs in the dining room.

“Kids.”

He only had to say it once. 

And not even that loudly. 

The entire room of twenty-some kids and teens paused their fencing and throwing things to look at him. 

It was dead silence. 

Not even Tommy was yelling—he knew that look on his dad’s face. 

Phil knew any other parent would’ve looked on in pure wonder. 

Not him.

Phil didn’t ask much of kids, but when he did—they listened. 

“I want this whole house picked up and put away,” he said sternly. “You’ve all had your fun, now let’s help Mum out, okay?” 

He saw a few nods, a few of the shyer kids looking at the floor. 

“Alrighty? Git!”

They took off as one. 

Everyone had their chores, their regular tasks. They switched once a month, so there was minimal whining. 

Phil walked slowly throughout the floors, breaking up fights and helping out where he was needed. 

Puffy and Niki finished up dinner while Ranboo and Eret set the table and got the toddlers ready.

Ponk and Punz, following closely by Purpled, put away the living room, Wilbur the arsenal, and Charlie took care of the schoolroom.

Tommy and Tubbo made the beds on the L’manburg half of the boy’s floor—Quackity and Karl did the SMP half. George put the clothes and random toys away on the SMP half—Jack and Sam did the L’manburg side. Minx and Drista took care of the girls’ room.

Antfrost, Skeppy, Bad, Techno, Dream, Schlatt, and Sapnap all headed outside to feed the animals and make sure the barn and fences were locked up for the night. 

It was almost an hour later by the time Phil got everyone done and in their seats in the dining room. By then, it was pitch black and two hours later than they would normally eat. 

Half the kids were falling asleep in their food—the other half were quickly following. Connor was planted firmly between Kristen and Phil. He ate a bit, but Phil caught the way his face twisted after a third of the plate was gone.

The kid had been starved then. 

_Fabulous._  
…  
Connor wanted to eat, he really did, but the meat and potatoes were starting to sit weird in his stomach. Even the milk was starting to make his stomach hurt. 

The screaming and bellowing around him was not helping.

He saw the look Phil gave him, and he forced himself to eat at least a third of the plate. 

Kristen made short work of smuggling Connor away after the meal to the third floor to a large, dark room.

There was a rather large round bed, three cribs, a smaller bed, a dresser, a bookshelf with a chair, and a vanity. 

Kristen plopped Connor into the small bed, tucking him in with a tenderness Connor had forgotten his own mother had had. 

The blanket was warm, the bed was softer than anything Connor had ever slept in before—and with Kristen slowly carding her fingers through his hair, humming a gentle tune, Connor found it was impossible to fight the sleep that swallowed him.

For the first time in several years, Connor slept peacefully.  
…  
Getting the kids all to bed was another war in-and-of-itself. It was like after the dishes were done, they had all woke up with twice the energy they had had before.

There were schedules on the doors to the bathrooms on who was supposed to shower on certain days and in which order—but that was usually ignored until Phil came into enforce it. 

After everyone had showered (Phil wasn’t sure how he had managed to make sure _all_ of the twenty-some kids made it through the shower, but he took what he could get), Jack started a pillow fight with the younger kids, nearly giving Tommy a concussion after Tubbo accidentally led him into an ambush. Tubbo had promptly started wailing and Tommy started cursing with words Phil was regretting ever using around the kid. 

Then Quackity started running from room to room in only his drawers, molting _(of course he’s molting again already—why **wouldn’t** he be molting again already??) _ golden feathers everywhere, screaming obscenities in his native tongue—Schlatt following close behind bellowing on how he was going to murder him when he caught him.

Meanwhile, Wilbur had somehow swindled Charlie out of his entire rare Minecraft card collection, and now Charlie was crying under Ranboo’s bed. Ranboo didn’t have a clue what was going on as he huddled under his blanket, staring at the chaos around him with wide, bi-colored eyes. 

Dream, Sapnap, George, Antfrost, and Bad were having a bloody game of Manhunt _(at eleven thirty?? In the house?!)_ the latter four desperately trying to catch the former. They were, of course, failing, until Techno joined in and caught the boy in under a minute. Dream had struggled wildly before Techno managed to pin the speed-runner to the floor by straddling his stomach and pinning his hands beside his head. From there, the other four had promptly started tickling the teen through his green hoodie. 

Apparently, Dream was ticklish and from the look on Techno’s face, he wasn’t freeing his pesky brother any time soon. Skeppy and Eret were on the floor from laughing so hard at Dream as the older boy thrashed and laughed vainly. 

Karl had practically kidnapped Purpled and hidden him away somewhere, Punz and Ponk losing their minds trying to find him. Karl wasn’t helping by laughing at them.

Puffy, Minx, and Niki, like the princesses they were, were in their room calmly getting ready for bed, babysitting Alyssa and Drista like they were supposed to. 

Kristen, pointedly ignoring her children, was bathing Fundy in her and Phil’s bathroom. Connor had already been tucked away in the “sick bed” (an extra bed in Kristen and Phil’s room that they used when one of the other kids was sick and needed to be watched in case they threw up or something) and was likely sound asleep. 

Phil decided his daughters were his favorites as he heard a crash, then Sam, the ‘gentle giant’ of his kids, suddenly bellow several curse words right in a row. 

Sighing as he entered the warzone that was the second floor, he saw a broken mirror on the floor and Sam on a chair, clutching his bare foot. Blood was dripping everywhere. 

Schlatt was standing off to the corner, looking extremely sheepish, while Quackity was just staring at the blood with wide eyes. 

The rest of the kids (if Dream’s desperate tea-kettle wheeze, Tubbo’s crying, and Punz’s yelling were any indication) hadn’t even noticed. 

Phil took a deep breath, then sent Schlatt and Quackity to their beds with a look. He took Sam to the SMP bathroom and quickly but caringly bound the wound, then carried the tall boy (no easy feat, but Phil knew the taller and older kids liked to be babied once in a while too) to his bed. 

After he got the mess cleaned up, Phil started making his rounds.  
He got Tubbo and Tommy first, tucking them both into Tubbo’s bed. They had their own bunkbeds, but they hardly ever used them separately. Phil didn’t have the heart to separate them as the two latched onto each other like they were each other’s lifeline.

Next was Ranboo, as the poor kid was close to tears, then Charlie was pulled out from under the bed and given his collection back before Phil tucked him in. 

Wilbur was given a scolding, then Phil tucked him in just as lovingly.  
Purpled was rescued from one of the L’manburg closets and sent off with his brothers. The three weren’t huge on being touchy-feely with anyone but themselves, so Phil let them go with a light a hug each.  
Karl was too given a scolding, though Phil knew the boy meant no harm. 

Skeppy and Eret, still literally unable to breathe from laughing so hard at Dream (whom Phil had pointedly yet to rescue), were next. Eret was hiccupping as Phil pulled the covers up to his chin and Skeppy had tears streaming down his face. 

His daughters, perfect angels in every way, were already in bed by the time he came by to kiss each of their foreheads and take Alyssa and Drista so they could go to bed. 

Finally, Phil rescued Dream. Not right away though—he leaned against the doorframe to the hall where Techno had pinned Dream, Alyssa and Drista dead to the word in his arms. They didn’t stir at all at Dream’s high-pitched wheezes—both was long since used to them.

“Phiiiilllll!!” Dream managed to get one long plea out before dissolving into gasping laughter again. 

“Alright mates, let’s let him breathe. Off to bed.”

The four boys whined but stopped. Dream immediately went limp, trying to catch his breath. 

“But we’re paying him back for all the crap he’s done to us!” Sapnap whined, poking Dream in the side and making him jump and yelp.

“Yeah, Techno never helps us catch him,” Ant complained. 

“And he’s the only one who can,” Bad added. 

“Five more minutes?” George asked, fingers twitching as Dream violently shook his head ‘no.’ 

“Don’t you dare, you little shi—”

Dream didn’t get to finish the sentence as George got him in his neck. 

Phil let them have their fun for a few more seconds (Dream really did deserve it; he often terrorized his siblings with pranks in games and it wasn’t often they got back at him) before breaking it up.

Except Techno wouldn’t budge, even after the other four had left. 

“Let me up, man!” Dream’s mask had slipped off, revealing a bright red face that came from laughing till he practically choked. 

“Not until you swear on Drista that you will not enact revenge.”

Techno’s monotone voice held the promise of sitting there till he _died_ if Dream didn’t promise.

Drista was Dream’s blood sister, and the only blood family the boy had left. 

Dream screwed up his face. “I won’t enact revenge while you’re sleeping--?”

Techno leaned heavier. “At _all_.”

Phil saw Dream contemplate his choices (‘choice,’ really, because Techno could sit there for all eternity) before sighing. “Fine.”

“Say it.”

“I swear on Drista Minecraft that I will not prank Technoblade Minecraft in retaliation for tonight’s utter _betrayal._ ”

Techno nodded, satisfied, then stood and helped Dream up. Phil gave them both a big hug before sending them off. 

After that, it was one final round the bedrooms.

Making sure Quackity, Tommy, and Tubbo were sleeping on their sides or stomachs and not on their wings—Wilbur had his inhaler and Sapnap had a glass of water—George had taken off his glasses—Antfrost hadn’t accidentally shifted before he fell asleep—Sam wasn’t bleeding through his bandages already—Dream’s wrists weren’t bruised—Purpled was snuggly between his brothers and not sleep-walking already—Minx hadn’t forgotten to take her makeup off—all the little things that Phil loved about the ‘night-shift,’ as his wife called it. 

Finally, he set Alyssa and Drista in their cribs and pulled the blanket over each of them before checking on Fundy and Connor. 

Letting out a sigh that went straight to his bones, he flopped into bed where Kristen was already asleep. He eased onto his side and pulled his wife close to him. The bed was massive and round, like a nest, and it was with great relief that he let his wings fall onto the mattress, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. 

It had been a very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was long enough for you!
> 
> Make sure you're eating right. Get outside or open a window and get some fresh air. It'll be good for you, I promise.
> 
> Let me know if this is any good!!
> 
> Oneshot requests are open, as I don't know how long I can keep this going while trying to juggle college and work.


	3. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor becomes one of the family.
> 
> Meanwhile Quackity is met with a harsh reality...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: blood, screaming, panic attack  
> again, nothing too bad--just playing it safe
> 
> Canon? Oh she's dead.
> 
> Beta? We die like George's house. 
> 
> Shipping? NOT HERE BABY.
> 
> THESE ARE NOT THE THE CC'S--THESE ARE THEIR CHARACTERS.
> 
> Except for the lovely Kristen.

Phil knew something was up the second he woke up.

His kids called it his “Dadza Senses.”

Phil called it “dread.”

“It’s too quiet.” his wife murmured, stirring next to him. 

“I know.”

“Dream took his revenge?”

“Most likely.”

At that point, a high-pitched scream of pure terror ripped through the house.

“There’s George,” Kristen sighed. 

“I thought that was Niki,” Phil said, stretching his wings out.

“Don’t insult Niki like that!”

Phil chuckled, sitting up. The two toddlers and the baby were already stirring at the scream. 

Connor hadn’t moved, but Phil could see the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. 

Kristen groaned as the sounds of twenty-some kids scrambling awake all over the second-floor reached their ears. “We need a vacation.”

“And come back to a pile of charred ash for a house? I don’t think so,” Phil said, pulling on a clean set of clothes. 

The scream came again, but different.

“Bad.” Kristen didn’t even raise her head from where she had hidden it under her pillow. 

“You’d think he was being murdered,” Phil said absentmindedly as Fundy started crying to be picked up.

“Dad! DAD!!”

“ _Muummm!!_ ”

Kristen full-on burrowed back under the covers at the twin sounds of Tommy and Tubbo barraged the door. 

“George is screaming—!!” 

“Coming,” Phil swung open the door to see the two hadn’t even dressed yet. Tubbo was still half asleep, leaning on Tommy with his bee plushie still clutched in his tight little fists. 

“Go get dressed,” he scolded, given them a gentle shove. “I’ll go save the Dream Team.”

Phil was not prepared for the scene that greeted him on the front lawn. 

Dream was known for being creative. 

Dream was known was using that creativity in gremlin-like ways.

Dream held grudges.

The four boys were staked out spread-eagled on the lawn, wrists and ankles tied to posts that were dug into the ground. 

Someone had smeared peanut butter all over the boys’ faces and bare arms _(Gee, I wonder who)_ and let the pigs out. 

The ten hogs--massive, docile creatures that didn’t so much as brushed up against someone too roughly--were making their way through what must’ve been four tubs of a peanut butter per boy.

“PHHHIIILLLLLLLL!!!” It was Sapnap’s turn to scream. The black-haired boy was thrashing wildly, but the stakes and knots held firm. Antfrost and Bad were holding deathly still, fists dug into the grass in an attempt to calm their panic. George was with Sapnap, struggling futilely.

Through his tears of laughter, Phil caught sight of Karl, Quackity, Schlatt, and Eret positively dying from their safe place in a tree. 

_How much did Dream pay them to help?_

“Okay, boys,” Phil called, moving to shoo the hogs away from Antfrost. “Go get their feed.”  
  
The four were guffawing too much to complain as they staggered out of the tree and toward the barn. A familiar bell rang shortly after and the pigs perked up, heading toward the barn with their slow, lumbering gate. 

It was then that Dream’s signature wheeze came from the house. 

“You guys should see your faces.” The teen could barely breathe. His mask was askew, and he couldn’t even stand up straight. 

The blond boy collapsed on the ground next to George, who was not-so-patiently waiting for Phil to finish untying Ant. 

“Whatdya say, Gogy?”

“You’re despic—” George’s insult was abruptly cut off and replaced with a screech and Phil turned to see Dream mercilessly tickling George’s ribs. If the pale teen hadn’t been struggling against his bonds now, he sure was now.

“Dream—”

“You don’t see anything, Dadza,” Dream said loudly, above George’s squeals. 

Phil sighed, moving on to Bad. Ant moved to help Sapnap, but stopped dead when Dream spoke. “Unless you want to wake up like this for the next two months,” Dream warned as he let George catch his breath, “I’d suggest you leave Sapitus Napitus right where he’s at.”

Ant paled, and backed away slowly, hands raised, before turning and booking for the house, probably to shower. 

“Ant!! Traitor!” Sapnap called, only to go stone-cold still as Dream inched toward him, wiggling his fingers.

“Don’tyou _dare_ youawfulnasty _demon_ leaveme _alo—_ ”

Sapnap’s laughs were deeper than George’s but just as desperate. 

“Dream, really?” Phil asked, helping Bad up and moving on to a grateful George.  
  
“What?” Dream asked innocently. “They started it.”

“Techno started it,” Sapnap gasped in the reprieve Dream let him have. “And you kno—”  
He full-body jumped as Dream got him in the side.

George sat up, slinging pig drool and leftover peanut butter in Dream’s direction as Phil got his ankles. 

“You’re disgusting,” George said, trying to ignore the amount of slobber covering his upper body. 

“I’m a genius,” Dream said as Phil pushed Dream out of the way. 

“Debatable,” Phil said mildly, getting at the knots. “I would’ve done your little prank _after_ I had left with Connor to go back to town. And I would’ve done it in the back field where Kristen wouldn’t have heard their screams.”

The look of betrayal on Sapnap’s face was hilarious. “Dadza, how could you?! That’s what he’ll do next time!!”

“Naw,” Dream said. “Ya’ll are too fat to haul all the way down there. Revenge is served short and sweet.”

“I am not fat!”

Phil sighed and left the arguing to grab a quick breakfast. He wanted the ride into town down and over with—Phil wasn’t known for being a social butterfly. 

He also needed to get the left field planted, the cows’ pasture fence needed mending, the sheep needed to be moved to the east paddock, and four of the horses needed to be shoed.  
Not to mention calving and branding season was coming up and two of the mares were expecting, and Kristen needed help with her garden so they had enough food to last them through the nasty winter that was coming. 

Phil sighed again, tiredly, as he made a mental list of who was going to do what without anybody getting shanked or pranked. Phil loved his kids, he really did, it was just hard sometimes to take care of all of them. 

Breakfast was hectic, as usual (Karl dumped his plate of eggs on Eret’s head, Wilbur stole Antfrost’s pancakes and gave them to Fundy, Drista put hot-sauce in Schlatt’s toast then laughed like a demon at his reaction from behind her brother’s legs, and Ranboo grew a spine and flung his biscuit at Punz, much to Tommy and Tubbo’s amusement) but at least everybody got to eat. 

“Everybody got their chores?” he yelled, fairly sure nobody was paying attention.

“Don’t worry about it, Dad--” Sam and Puffy, the “second parents” according to the kids, said in passing “--we got this.”

Phil relaxed slightly. Sam and Puffy had proven themselves to be more than apt at wrestling the dozen-plus kids into getting the chores done. And what they couldn’t convince the gremlins to do, Techno and Dream could.

Phil felt a tiny bit better as he snagged Connor out of the group of younger kids trying to make a break of the door.

“Aw, come on, Daaddd,” Charlie whined.

“He can stay here!” Tubbo said. 

“Yeah! Let him stay!” Tommy cheered. 

“Kids,” Phil sighed, secretly proud of his kids for already trying their smuggling trick on Connor. “If he belongs to someone and someone finds out we stole him, I could go to prison. Now who would take care of you lot then?”

The kids froze, various expressions passing from face to face. 

“I’m going to see what I can do,” Phil said, settling the little kid onto his back in a piggyback carry. “If he’s just a street kid, the papers won’t take very long at all. I’ll be home soon.”

There was a varied amount of “okayysss” before Sam called the kids over and started dishing out chores. 

Phil forced calm into his shoulder as he stepped off the porch onto the front lawn. “Ready kiddo?” he asked, stretching his wings carefully. Connor gave a nod, face pale. 

“This’ll just be nice and quick.” Phil’s reassurances didn’t stop Connor from burying his face in Phil’s back and screaming as Phil lifted off with a powerful flap of his wings.

What had taken a two-hour horse ride the previous day took ten minutes. 

Connor looked around bewilderedly as Phil set down just outside of the village walls.

“Karl had that same look on his face when I did the same thing for him,” Phil laughed, letting Connor jump down. 

“Why are you hiding your wings?” Connor asked quietly as Phil pulled the long, black cloak over his feathers. 

“Don’t you know the stigma against us?” Phil smiled sadly. 

“But nobody sees my wings—and Tommy and Tubbo and Q had their wings out yesterday—”

“Nobody can see their wings, and yours, because its avian magic,” Phil explained, taking Connor’s hand and heading him to the village. “Our magic recognizes the hatred for hybrids like us and hides out features when we’re young to keep us safe. Around fifteen or so is when normal people will be able to see them. That’s why Wilbur was wearing a cloak when he and Techno nicked you.” 

He saw the boy put everything together in his head before nodding. 

Phil noticed the extra looks he got from the villagers—though he doubted they could tell the difference between a new orphan and an old one.

The courthouse, the biggest building in the village (wasn’t saying much, really) was pretty empty—it usually was. It didn’t even get to really count as a courthouse. It was the post office, doctors, and courthouse wrapped together in one, the three businesses all taking up their corners with halfway or thin walls sectioning off the building into rooms.

“Long time, no see, Mr. Minecraft,” the clerk, an elderly woman with an easy smile and a coil of grey hair up in a neat bun, greeted. “Another orphan?”

“Hey, Donna. What else?” Phil grinned, lifting Connor up so he could sit on the counter. 

“Okay then, darling—” the clerk leaned over the counter to get a look at Connor, “—you got a family?”

Connor swallowed hard, heart pounding. He knew this question had been coming. If he lied—would his uncle really care? But what if he did and Phil got sent to prison for kidnapped like he said--?

“He looks familiar—” Donna said, gently tilting his head from side to side with her pen. 

“Ain’t that the Price boy?” A young woman with twins clinging to her skirt asked from the post office corner of the tiny building.

“As in Joseph Price? The drunk that lives in his dead sister’s apartment?” Donna scoffed, pulling up a stack of papers. “Considering he faked his death to get out of taxes, I don’t think he has any right to anybody.”

“Seriously?” Phil asked, taking the forms and pulling a pen out of his cloak pocket. 

“Twice.” Donna nodded. “He’s the boy’s uncle anyhow. Haven’t seen him sober since—what was it?—the wildfire of ‘95?”

Connor felt the unease he had felt drip from his body as Phil worked his way expertly through the papers, not seeming at all perturbed at the fact that Connor had lied about not having family. Even his wings, having been all tensed up against his back, began to relax. 

_I have a home now. I have parents—and brothers and sisters—_

The thought eased around Connor’s heart and filled him a warm, fuzzy feeling. 

“What about a birth certificate?” Phil asked, half-way through the stack, Connor watching with fascination at Phil’s sophisticated hand-writing.

Donna shook her head. “I remember Price’s sister. Pretty thing before the wither-fever got her. She never filed any papers for a child.” 

“So I shouldn’t be getting any visits from a half-dead drunk looking for a kid?” Phil said, sliding the papers back to the her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Donna shrugged. She wagged the papers. “These will prove your guardianship. As far as anybody’s concerned, you’re the boy’s blood father.”

Connor felt an insurmountable relief poor into his veins at those words. “That’s it?” he asked in a quiet voice, subconsciously inching toward Phil. 

“Normally, no,” Donna said, checking to make sure Phil correctly filled out the blanks on the forms. “But Phil’s an expert at this, as well as an old friend.” She tapped Connor on the nose. “You’ll be safe with him, sweetheart.”

“Thanks Donna,” Phil smiled broadly, picking Connor back up and settling him on his hip.  
The sweet lady smiled, her wrinkled face looking like an angel’s. “My pleasure, darling. You keep that boy safe now. Put some meat on his bones. And give my hellos to the wife.”

Phil nodded, returning the smile before heading back out into the village and making a beeline for the gates. 

_He doesn’t like people either._ Connor was grateful. He didn’t like the curious eyes that were fixed on Phil, and him.

“You doing okay, mate?” Phil asked once they were a safe distance away, taking his cloak of with one hand still supporting Connor. 

Connor nodded numbly, still overwhelmed, feeling tears prick his eyes.  
“Ready to back home?” 

Connor nodded again, this time nuzzling his face into Phil’s neck. 

Phil chuckled, letting his wings spread and air out, getting a feel for the breeze. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

…

The first thing Phil noticed when he landed back home was the large gathering of what appeared to be his wife and most of the kids outside the front porch, clustered around someone or something.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he touched down, setting Connor down.

“Dad—” George had blood smeared on his face. He ran a slender hand through tangled curls and gave up on his sentence, nodding his head toward whatever was in the middle of the gathering. “Just look.”

Phil, dread pooling in his stomach, handed Connor off to Bad and pushed his way through the kids. Some of them were crying, and the older ones looked ready to go to war. Dream and Techno looked like they already had—Dream’s knuckles were bruised and swollen and Techno’s sword was dripping with blood.

What Phil saw made his dread to pure fury in under a second. 

Quackity’s right wing had been clipped. 

The golden avian sat in Kristen’s lap, hugging her, his wings extending behind him. Well, what was left of the right wing. Long, horrendous slashes had been torn through the flight feathers, close enough to the nerves and blood vessels that the boy had to have felt every cut. The left wing was okay, a little ruffled, but intact. 

“Quackity?” Phil forced the anger down, forced himself to appear as a caring father instead of the bloodthirsty warrior that threatened to emerge. 

Quackity didn’t need that now. He needed his dad. 

Quackity looked up and his face crumpled when he saw Phil. “D-dad—” his voice was tremulous and held the threat of another bout of tears as he held his arms out pathetically. 

Phil didn’t hesitate, reaching over and drawing his son into a tight, secure hug. The boy clung to him, slender fingers digging into Phil’s back as if Phil would disappear any second as he started sobbing all over again. 

“What—happened?”

Techno was the only one brave enough to answer.

…

 _Earlier_

“I hate this job,” Tommy whined as he waved the stick, shooing the sheep towards Ranboo.  
“We were aware the first thirty times you said that,” the Ender sighed, making sure they fluffy animals didn’t make a break for it. 

“So why do we keep getting stuck with it?” Tubbo joined in, wings drooping. 

“Because Sam’s against us,” Quackity said, crossing his arms angrily. 

They four boys managed, eventually, to get the entire Minecraft flock moved to the correct pasture—by then it was nearing noon and the sun was hot overhead.

“Think Mum’s got lunch yet?” Ranboo asked as they headed back towards the massive farmhouse, a half an hour’s walk from the sheep shed.

“Well, lookee here.” 

The Minecraft boys nearly jumped out of their skins as a group of village boys, all Wilbur’s age or older, rounded the corner from the shed. There were seven of them, all much taller than and bigger built than the avians and Ender.

“We came to see if the rumors were true,” the tallest, a greasy boy with a rotten-toothed smile, grinned as if he had just been handed a present. 

“What rumors?” Tommy, by far the bravest of the four, sneered. 

“That Wilbur Minecraft is a mobblood.” Another boy, a rat-looking kid with snags for teeth, said loftily.

“And look what we found instead—” the six village boys advanced on the Minecraft kids.

“Philza Minecraft has _another_ mobblood brat. Why are we not surprised?”

Quackity felt a shiver go through his spine. Ranboo wasn’t identifiable as an Ender, and there was no way Tommy and Tubbo were old enough—

 _They could see his wings?!_

The golden feathers, his pride and joy, flattened to his back—he could feel them shuddering. 

“Run?” Ranboo whispered. 

“ _Run_.” Tommy nodded. 

The four boys made a break for it, each taking off in a dead sprint.

Only Tubbo was quick enough. 

“Go get Wilbur, Techno— _somebody!!_ ” Ranboo shrieked, an Ender warble seeping through his terrified voice as the village boy gripped him tightly around the waist and hauled him up. 

Tubbo hesitated until one of the teens turned to him.

The tiny boy paled, then turned and ran. 

“Leave him,” the leader of the pack, struggling to keep a solid grip on Quackity, ordered. “We have enough time to ground this mobblood before the rest come.”

Quackity turned the color of fresh milk, going still. “You wouldn’t—”

One of the village thugs, who wasn’t helping to hold down the three boys, clipped a rusty shears in Quackity’s face. “We would.”

“Leave him alone, you bloody coward!!” Tommy let out a stream of expletives that would have made a drunken sailor blush, but was quickly silenced as his captor clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Keep him quiet!” the leader said, forcing Quackity onto his knees, then his stomach on the ground. The skinny avian, though he struggled wildly, was no match for the three boys that held him down. 

“Please don’t! _Please—_ ”

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Ranboo yelled, unable to pry himself free to help is brother. 

“Please— _don’t_ —”

The village boys ignored him. The shears made contact—too close. Quackity didn’t want to scream--it’d scare his brothers--but he couldn’t stop the agonized cry that tore his throat straight for his soul. 

…

“What did we learn?” Wilbur asked as Bad carefully cleaned a nasty cut on Sapnap’s temple.

“Don’t sneak up on Techno and Wilbur?” Dream grinned, blood spurting from his split lip.

“How did you _not_ know that rule already?” George asked, handing him an ice pack. 

“They’re too dense to remember,” Techno said dryly, hacking away at the stubborn ground. He was the only one doing actual work, having paused just long enough to bust Dream in the face after he jump-scared him before going right back to stabbing the dry dirt.

“Are not!” Sapnap said, offended. “We just like testing a theory multiple times to make sure we’re correct.”

“Sapnap, Techno _and_ I can take you in a fight, and Dream will never get the up on Techno,” Wilbur shook his head. “How is that hard to remember?”

“Maybe I _like_ getting my face busted up every other Wednesday,” Dream pointed out. 

Wilbur rolled his eyes as Techno snorted, then the two snapped their heads up, all manner of play leaving their faces. 

“You hear that?” Wilbur asked, going rigid. 

“Tubbo,” Techno said, throwing the hoe to the ground and grabbing his sword. 

All of the boys could hear it now—a desperate yelling of several different names.

Wilbur spread his wings and took off in the direction of the screams, the rest following from the ground.

The little boy was running as fast as his short legs could go, and shrieked as Wilbur nearly dive-bombed the kid.

“Tubbs, what’s wrong?” Wilbur asked, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and kneeling to his level. 

“Weren’t Tommy, Quackity, and Ranboo with him?” Bad asked nervously, catching up. 

“They caught us!!” Tubbo managed to hitch out. “They saw Quackity’s wings—!!”

Wilbur didn’t even to hear the rest of the sentence. He shoved Tubbo at Bad and launched himself into the air toward the sheep shed, the blood was pounding too hot in ears for him to hear the others following him.

… 

Quackity felt sick, wrong, _violated._

He didn’t dare move as the boys ripped through his right wing—if they caught any of the muscles or tendons—

He retched as he felt a soft breeze _way_ too close to his primaries. He didn’t open his eyes, knowing the grass around them was covered in his golden feathers. 

“What?” the leader cooed, ruffling his hair. “Is the mobblood gonna cry?”

Quackity was already crying—silent sobs that seemed trapped in his lungs. The tears seemed to burn his cheeks—he couldn’t _breathe—_

“Get the other one done. That kid’s probably made it to the house by now.”

“No!!” Quackity lurched, the word tearing from his heart, only for a hand to slam his head into the ground.

“You’re damaging him!” Ranboo cried. Tommy’s muffled shrieks had become nothing but background noise.

“He’s an ‘it,’” the leader said, grabbing the bone of the second wing, making Quackity full-body spasm in horror. “Mobbloods are filthy creatures—”

He never finished his sentence. 

Quackity felt the weight of the boys fly off him and suddenly there was Wilbur, standing over him defensively. His own wings, a span that already rivaled Phil’s, were spread as widely as Wilbur could make them.

“The first person to touch my brothers again _dies._ ” The words were hissed through clenched teeth, Wilbur’s normally cheerful and light voice replaced by something dark and bitter.  
Quackity curled on his side, gagging again as he felt grass touch places on his wing where they shouldn’t be able to touch. 

“What happ—”

Quackity turned his head and saw most of the Dream Team and Techno run up, only to stop dead in horror at the sight of the scattered feathers.

Techno reacted first, a feral growl that made the birds flee from the nearby trees ripping from his throat. His sword glinted in the sun as he ran at the first village boy—the one that held Ranboo. 

Dream wasn’t armed—didn’t need to be. The speed-runner tore into Tommy’s captor with a vicious kick to the head and followed up with several blows with his fists. Tommy ducked out of the way and ran behind Wilbur with Ranboo, stunned in complete silence at the rage on his brothers’ faces.

Sapnap, fire burning in his palms, and George, also unarmed, joined in on the fray.

It was over pathetically quickly. Five of the boys were thrown on their backs, Techno’s sword in their faces. Two were unconscious. Three were clutching broken arms or ankles. Four were sporting burns and quickly blackening eyes.

The leader, however, was thrown to Wilbur. The lanky boy, displaying a strength his brothers didn’t know he had, yanked the trembling thug up by his throat. 

“I’m only going to say this once—” Wilbur spat, “--I catch you around here again, I catch you so much as giving my brothers a _passing glance_ , and I will personally slit. your. _throat_.”

“I won’t be so generous,” Dream snapped, the threat sounding eerie as he cracked bloody knuckles. “I’ll make you _beg_ for me to kill you.”

Techno just growled, letting some of his hybrid features shift through. 

The village boys, obviously not used to death threats, simply cowered, too scared to even nod their heads in agreement. 

Wilbur shoved them back. “Git.”

The boys scrambled away, hauling away their stone-cold friends. The Dream Team and the twins didn’t move for a solid minute, each drawling in haggard breaths. 

“Guys?” Tommy’s voice was quiet, worried. 

The older boys all turned to the younger, forcing themselves to calm down. They didn’t want to snap around the little kids. 

“He’s not doing so good—” Ranboo said, kneeling next to Quackity. The avian was hunched on his side, face pale, dry-heaving every few seconds. Bad and Tubbo, having caught up, were looking rather sick themselves. Tubbo had his face hid in Bad’s stomach, trying to hide as the older boy looked like he wanted to crawl into a dark hole and hide.

“When’s Dad supposed to be back?” Wilbur rushed to Quackity’s side, wings spreading to block him from the sun.

“Dream, go get Mum,” Techno ordered, joining Wilbur. “George and Sapnap take T Squared and Ranboo back to the house. Bad, go find Sam and tell him what happened—we still gotta get stuff done today.”

The boys rushed off without complaint. Even Tommy kept his mouth shut and obeyed.  
“Big Q?” Wilbur asked, gently laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You with us? Mum’s gonna be here soon—”

“How are they?” Quackity’s voice was dull through the tears.

Wilbur knew what his brother was talking about—but he didn’t want to tell him. He had never seen such damage on a wing—some of the feathers were completely ripped out at the root. They were even _bleeding_ in some places. 

“The left one’s okay,” Techno said gruffly. “The other will be fine after your next molt.”  
How Techno knew that, Wilbur didn’t know. It didn’t seem to calm Quackity. The boy slumped back, wings limp. 

“They just finished molting.” Quackity murmured, eyes glassy.

“And they’ll molt again,” Techno reassured. “Now we need to get you to the house. Mum can’t run all the way up here—she’ll hurt her back again.”

The boy held still for another second, then let Wilbur help him up. Wilbur gingerly picked the smaller avian up in a bridal carry, careful not to touch the feathers, or anywhere the feathers were supposed to be. 

They were halfway home when Kristen came running as quickly as she could, followed by Puffy, Niki, Sam, Eret and half a dozen of the younger siblings. 

“Q, sweetheart!” she rushed up, black hair flying out of her braid. Her eyes caught the shredded wings. “Oh, _honey_ —get him to the house—Phil will be home soon—”

…

_Now_

Phil closed his eyes as Techno finished, with the add-ins from Tommy and Dream wrapping the story up. He turned Quackity around and got a better look at Quackity’s wing. He scrutinized the yellow limb, and noticed with relief that the joint was intact—the village boys, despite not knowing what they were doing, had missed anything important. 

“You’ll be okay,” Phil sighed. “All they got was feathers. A lot of feathers, I’m not going to lie, but they’ll come back good as new.” 

Quackity just stared off into space listlessly. “Why do they hate us?”

“Because you’re special,” Kristen said, cupping his face in her hands. “And they’re jealous. Jealous they’ll never get to take to the skies, and see the world like you do.” 

“I don’t feel special,” Quackity sighed shakily. 

Phil let the boy lean back into him. “I assume whoever did got what was coming?”

Dream’s sardonic grin alongside the nods from the blooded-up teens was all he needed to know.

“Okay then,” he said, standing and pulling Quackity up into a bridal carry as he did. “Everybody else good?”

Everybody gave him either a grim nod or a tear-stained, strained smile. 

“How bout we take a day off tomorrow and go to the cove?”

The smiles brightened and even Quackity perked up a hair. 

“Really?!” Tommy and Tubbo said at the same time. “We gotta tell everyone else!!”

They ran back to the house, already yelling for all the world to hear. 

Phil sighed and shook his head good-naturally and followed them while the Dream Team and twins ran after the T’s, Kristen staying by his elbow.

“Dad?” Quackity asked quietly. “You promise my wing’s okay?”

“I promise.” Phil pressed a small kiss to his son’s forehead. “It’ll hurt for a bit because they ripped some feathers out, but they’ll come back. I had the same thing happen to me, to both wings, a while back. A village wasn’t as hybrid-friendly as I thought they were.”

Quackity looked horrified, making Phil laugh a little. “Yeah, you’re telling me, mate. It sucks. But you’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

Later that night, with Quackity safely tucked beneath Kristen and himself, wing bandaged up, Phil fell asleep wishing for a better world for his kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did no research on the adoption process, can u tell?
> 
> Also the "staked out on the lawn" thing...according to an kids book I read a while ago its an old Native American trick (minus the pigs and peanut butter). Hey, it worked to prank those characters, it'll work to prank these ones!
> 
> Just to clear some things up--
> 
> The kids all appear as human, except for the avians, who have wings. They can shift to a halfway between human and their animal forms, but mostly chose not too. The only ones that can fully shift into their animal are Ant and Bad (so far--I can't think of anyone else at the top of my head. They're a snow leopard and demon btw). 
> 
> "Shifting" is the letting their hybrid features mix with their human features. 
> 
> Ages--ehhhhh. You guess is as good as mine.
> 
> The next chapter is pure fluff--don't worry!!
> 
> Make sure you drink water today!!

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoo!!
> 
> Speedran garbage!!
> 
> Let's get this show on the road!!
> 
> I hope you like it a lot more than I do...


End file.
